


White Noise

by Koukoi1412



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Forgiveness, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koukoi1412/pseuds/Koukoi1412
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vengeance is a path obscured until the very end. Hakuryuu's fall from grace and rise to power, seen from different points of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Noise

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Magi Labyrinth of Magic is the property of Shinobu Ohtaka.

There's a boy with a maelstrom in his eyes. It scares her.

Kougyoku can't describe the emotion that radiates from the fourth prince whenever their paths cross. It is not anger like Kouen's, not Kouha's insanity, nor the determination of Hakuei. It is all three, clashing within a narrow-mouthed cave called blankness.

"What's up with everyone? A lot of guys around here seemed pretty broody all morning," Judal notes, braid hanging limp in the complete absence of wind.

"It's the anniversary of that day." Koumei's reply isn't what takes her by surprise, but the fact that he shows up without Hakuei and Kouen flanking him. Perhaps he, too, hates the stale weight of grief in the air.

She remembers vague details. A fire. Charred buildings. Weeping everywhere. Hakuei's eyes redder than Judal's. And a prince with a cocoon of bandages smothering his face.

How does it feel to lose someone? So far, the only things taken away from her were the dolls that used to fill a cedar chest (Ka Koubun only let her keep three). She consults her three remaining dolls. The dolls stare back, tight-lipped. No one cares to explain and her dolls refuse to say a word.

It feels sad, ironically, not to have felt this grief. Because the only person of importance would be Ka Koubun, and he doesn't seem in a hurry to go anywhere but up the power-hungry rungs of Kou.

* * *

In the fickle hours before daybreak, footsteps scrape on sandalwood, back and forth, back and forth, screaming murder.

The palace is deaf and blind, oblivious to her manipulation.

Everyone but him.

Hakuryuu has heard. Hakuryuu has seen. Yes, though fire forever cackles in his left ear, even with his damaged eye, Hakuryuu knows the secret. It's terrifying.

His chameleon mother never loved him. His chameleon mother will have his head the instant he squeals the truth.

Alone, awake, with no company but the sleepless noise of sorrow, Hakuryuu gets his first taste of politics. It is the bitterest spice in Kou, but it is his life now. Politics means your mother is a murderer and you can't tell your sister. It means you can't kill someone who's already dead.

This is his burden, his to bear alone.

He's three months away from his seventh birthday.

* * *

There's a prince who gets lost in the palace. The irony of this phenomenon is not lost on Koumei.

The new wing - the one that was consumed by the great fire two years ago - has finally been rebuilt. All the princes and princesses had been present for the ceremony, except one. The fourth prince came down with a fever the night before. They say he was screaming in delirium, haunted by the ghosts of his deceased father and brothers.

Ever since, his presence has been scarce in these parts. And he always asks the maids for directions in and out even though the architecture's basically the same, sans a few improvements. Koumei's amazed by how the exits and entrances refuse to register in his mind. Minor color changes or slightly thicker columns are enough to throw him off.

 _These weren't here,_ he hears the youngest prince murmur while gazing scornfully at a newly installed row of lamps. Or maybe it's the carvings on the nearby pillar that he dislikes. Maybe the lost boy can't believe the nonexistence of certain people in his home. That could explain why he sometimes cringes for no reason, as though he still sees tongues of fire creep up the wall.

If this were a matter of war tactics, Koumei would undoubtedly have found a solution by now. If the subject were some unknown science, he would have proposed at least a dozen equally valid theories, one of which would surely be correct. But the human psyche? It will always be the greatest mystery.

"Prince Koumei, Kouha-sama requests your permission to cut off the tongue of one of the researchers. He disturbed Kouha-sama's sleep while raving over his newest discovery." He looks up to see one of the cast-off experiments, now one of Kouha's loyal followers.

Leaving the raven-haired prince to wander around, Koumei takes his cue to retreat into the underground lab and go on with his research. Kouen's heading off on another dungeon quest, and there's one intriguing bit of the previous one that still leaves him puzzled.

* * *

 _Mother, my mother, their killer, that liar._ Hakuryuu ponders this as the world he knows is razed to the ground and rebuilt anew.

He is lost, but staying lost will only hinder him from exacting revenge. He works, day in and day out, to get the facts straight.

First, the order of princely succession is different. Kouen is now crown prince. Hakuei retains her title as first princess, but Hakuryuu has been all but banished to the shadows.

Second, the head of the organization that killed most of his family is his own mother. They are called Al Thamen. They wear black. They have a magi, a powerful creature in the guise of a handsome human boy with inhuman eyes. This magi is cruel.

Third, there is such a thing as metal vessels. Al Thamen's pet scorpion has initiated dungeon quests with Kouen and even - how bitterly ironic - his own sister.

Fourth, he must find a way to destroy them all.

His soul will forever be defined by the night of blood and fire. Even if they forget, he will not. Emblazoned on his face is the permanent reminder that his mother is a murderer. He has no one to rely on but himself, and even he is not a complete entity. There is one malfunctioning eye, the one which had seen too much injustice for a lifetime and could not bear to look anymore.

Today he takes the first steps towards revenge.

His footsteps crack on the floor, loud enough to go unheard.

He turned twelve yesterday.

* * *

There's a warrior afraid of his own shadow.

He strikes, he slashes, but he's too afraid to go for the kill. Something restrains him, invisible puppet strings that keep him from being the white dragon he's supposed to be.

Kouha pauses from his match with Hakuei to watch Hakuryuu slicing at a training pole. He hacks at it with more fury than grace, before falling to his knees in a panting mess.

"He's being too hard on himself," says Hakuei. She excuses herself, then leaves. Maybe she can't bear the sight of her younger brother fooling around with a blade. How strange, Kouha thinks, when she's no stranger to swordplay herself.

The boy gets up. Even Kouha's impressed. This boy (who isn't that much taller than he is) may not be an excellent swordsman, but he's a determined fighter, no doubt about that.

"Wanna play with me?" Kouha offers, leaving the younger (and slightly taller) boy in awe for several moments. His cousin's eyes are so focused, so different from the madness that washes over his vision, but one strikes and the other blocks, and the joyful clash of steel - his favorite music in the world - plays on.

Hakuryuu thanks him before leaving for Sindria, his silhouette unsteady atop a speckled white horse. _Hope he doesn't kill himself,_ Kouha thinks, as Hakuryuu and horse fade into the unspoken secrets of the long, dusty road ahead. There'll be one less boy in the family, and already he's suffocating in the presence of six sisters who would rather spend time painting their cheeks than challenge him to a fight.

* * *

Jealousy, Hakuryuu thinks, is red. For someone who grew up in the palace, he should have known this already.

At first the color of her hair reminded him of Hakuyuu's last words. As his journey continued, it came to mean so much more.

A fanalis girl saved him from self-destructing in a dungeon. How foolish he had been. If he died, then no one would avenge his brothers. No one would restore the honor of their family.

A former slave danced during their victory celebration, and the resplendent light in her eyes outshone all the stars that night.

A friend shed a tear when he inquired about her kin. She didn't know it, but he was crying inside to the same mournful tune.

This girl said no. His heart cracked a bit when she refused his offer - just a bit because most of it was in fragments already.

Here he stands, watching the sunset. It's red, but not Morgiana red. He's jealous, and he knows this, and it still hurts, for more reasons than it should.

Alibaba is lucky. Someone cared enough to return to him. The mother he once knew will never come back. His father will never come back. His brothers only speak with him in dreams.

They died. He lives. And he won't stop until he takes down all the evil that pervades Kou, even if it drags his soul into the darkness.

The light has always been so gloriously wrong, anyway.

* * *

There's a child who misses home.

Hakuei, also, misses the way things used to be. But so much has changed over the passing of the years that even she doesn't remember what home looks like.

She's moved on. There's no shame in admitting that. Father and Hakuyuu and Hakuren are gone and the best thing for her to do is support Kouen's vision of the world.

Hakuryuu, however, remains trapped in the past. Physically, despite the loss of an arm and an eye, he's never been better - or so he claims - but she knows deep inside he hasn't found peace.

"What did father ever see in her?" he lashes out, not long after his return from Sindria. "What did the late emperor see in her? How could they have been so deceived?" _How could you?_

"Maybe they found her beautiful," Hakuei says, and her voice mourns this thought. Her mother's beauty is deadly, she knows now. Another reason she doesn't regret the thick scar on her chin.

"Beautiful," he scoffs, and she's certain the heavy chill that creeps up her shoulders is some manifestation of the darkness eating away at his soul.

* * *

Hakuryuu knows with absolute certainty that there's something very wrong with the world.

How can his sister call that woman beautiful? Beautiful and Gyokuen cannot coexist.

_You want beautiful? Bring our brothers back. Rip this scar away and stick it on Gyokuen's face. That's beautiful._

He doesn't speak to Hakuei for a week.

That's the week he becomes someone else.

* * *

There's a brother who loves his sister a little too much. Kouen's been observing the pair for a long time, so even he senses when their formerly close-knit relationship is disturbed.

Hakuryuu no longer clings to his sister's robes like a scared child, and that should be a good thing, except these days he's pretty much forgotten her existence.

_Hakuyuu, your absence has left a greater void than you could imagine. I promised to save your brother, but it seems I have failed. Forgive me._

Suddenly, world unity seems so much easier than this. Between Hakuei's depressed state and Hakuryuu's alarming closeness with Kou's oracle, Kouen's devotion to the cause starts to falter. Several times he's come dangerously close to abandoning this impossible goal, but one look at Hakuei reminds him so much of the late crown prince that he forces himself to go on.

Presently he approaches the porcelain-skinned princess. She's knitting what appears to be a sweater. It's brown. A color of his preference.

_That couldn't be for Hakuryuu._

"How is Hakuryuu?" he asks, muting the concern in his tone. The last thing he'd want is to see her worry.

"I don't know." Her admission is so painfully honest, her eyes so despondent that he knows he wouldn't hesitate to give up his own life if it would bring Hakuyuu and Hakuren back.

But the dead will stay dead, and with nothing more to say, Kouen sits down and polishes a sword already sharp enough to cut steel.

"Some flowers would rather shrivel up than fall," muses Hakuei, so softly that he cuts his finger straining to decipher the words.

He secretly presses his thumb against the folds of his garment to staunch the flow, hoping the scent of incense is enough to mask the smell of his blood.

"The others?" he asks, without skipping a beat, lest she suspect.

"They fall too soon."

He knows who she means. Hakuei had three brothers; now she has one, but his post-Sindria demeanor is as cold as a tomb.

"I took your brothers' place. And, despite what everyone says, I'm not doing a very good job."

"I don't hate you."

"You don't regret?"

"I only wish they could see Hakuryuu now. He's grown up to be strong and powerful. He even owns two metal vessels. That's my only regret."

She has one regret. He has a hundred. Perhaps Hakuryuu will have a thousand more.

* * *

He defeats that woman. At last.

Revenge has been exacted. Father and brothers Hakuyuu and Hakuren can now rest in peace.

He should be rejoicing, but all he feels is a strange hollowness inside.

"Hakuryuu! Where do we head next?"

 _We_. He's not alone in this.

Judal taps his shoulder and he no longer wonders why that hand doesn't crush him, that hand meant for sucking life. He's dead inside. But so is this magi. And now that they've defeated their sworn foe, it's time to reclaim their right to live.

Even if it means killing everyone else.

* * *

There's a fellow rebel in their ranks. He's a bit too serious, too silent for the dark magi's taste, but his soul is tinted with the same jagged darkness that dyes the rukh.

Judal watches with glee as the prince falls deeper and deeper into the pit of twisted fate. There is finally someone who understands, someone who reads his threats better than a shallow "He's itching for a fight." Someone who knows, breathes, and walks depravity.

War is coming. Together they will swallow up the light.

And should they lose (they won't, he's sure of that), he can't imagine a better companion to oblivion than the prince who cursed his destiny.

* * *

His mother is dead.

His friend is dead.

His magi is dead.

His cousins are gone.

His sister is someone else.

He is the emperor.

He won. He did. Really.

He wants to die.

* * *

If Hakuryuu could turn back time, he'd have chosen a different dungeon. The power to end your opponents with a single strike is overrated. If he had the chance, he'd choose the ability to forget.

If only he could erase the past - wrap the world in a pure blank cloth and wipe all traces of his sins away.

In that kind of world, Morgiana doesn't say, "I'm sorry, but I can't leave Alibaba and Aladdin." There's no "I'm sorry, please give me time to think," from Hakuei. He never had to hear, "Sorry, live on in our place." He also wouldn't exist.

He can still do it now.

Not exist.

A single thrust of the blade should suffice, but here comes this girl, with the same shade of red that haunted his hallucinations since goodbye.

He does not die.

She doesn't let him.

He's cheated death a third time. He hates himself for being lucky.

The first time, in a burning palace, his brother saved him. The mess, he learned, was his mother's doing. The second time, in the same palace, a magi's borg activated just before the room exploded. That woman's fault, again. The third time, same palace, but now he didn't need his mother to do it.

"Hakuryuu-san," Morgiana says, and he notices how well long hair suits her, "you don't deserve to die."

She doesn't understand why he had to do what he did, why he thought he had no choice but to kill _him_ , even though he squeezed back his calloused heart for a whole minute knowing he'd regret it and the unfelt slice of his scythe might as well have ripped through his own body with the pain it brought - she doesn't understand. Probably she never will. But here she is, eyes glistening with unshed tears, to prevent him from adding to his list of atrocities.

"You're right. Because of my sins, I don't deserve to die."

She gives him a weird look. It's not apathy, nor is it disgust, or even pity. Sorrow, he guesses (it's been too long since he felt anything besides hate). She's lost someone very dear to her, someone she loved, and it's his fault.

He has become his mother, then. The fear that Morgiana will turn out like him, so dark and unlike herself shocks him into the grave reality of his misdeeds.

But Morgiana is different. Even grief has not broken her. The thin sparks fanning from her shackles prove that. She isn't like him, who broke everything and fought everyone, but could never find freedom.

He doesn't ask her what freedom looks like, because he knows she'll mention Alibaba. He doesn't ask her to stay, because he doesn't want the scar on his face to be a constant reminder of the one that claimed her friend's life. He simply nods and watches the swirl of patterns on the tile - patterns that, however beautiful, will never, ever be alive.

What feels like an hour elapses and his gaze hasn't left the cracked spot on the floor. _She's gone by now, she should be gone by now, will she ever, ever come back-_

"I'm staying," she says, in a voice that kicks away memories of black smoke in a charred palace. He nearly falls off his chair.

_No one ever said that before._

Hakuryuu of the past would have cried. Hakuryuu of the present doesn't remember how.

"I'll be watching. And if you make a wrong move, I will certainly stop you."

If this is the light, he thinks, then it's the loveliest thing in the world.

* * *

There's a broken man wearing a crown, and he's fighting to slowly unbreak himself.

Morgiana watches, blinking back tears, and remains.

He's forever apologizing, even long after the pain ceases, and sometimes she wonders if that's all he'll ever say for the rest of his life.

"Hakuryuu-san, the people are revolting again. What shall I do?" She hopes her monotone voice conveys the urgency of the moment.

The emperor rises to his feet and descends the eight steps that separate them.

"I shall call an emergency meeting at once. Please, it would be a great help if Aladdin were present."

He gaze lingers on her hair, seconds longer than necessary, before he strides away to prevent a war. She thinks, for the span of a blink, the ever-present melancholy in his eyes was replaced by something else.

Alibaba's death has left a gaping hole in her world which will probably never fully scar over. She can't smile for real yet. But one day, she will.

And when that day comes, the joy on her face will mirror his.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: There goes my first attempt at Hakumor because even if Alikou doesn't become canon, Hakumor should (and I'm not even a real fan of this pairing). It's just too deeply sad not to be true.


End file.
